


Duties of a First

by olliolli_oxenfree



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: "you smooched fen'harel the next arlathvhen is gonna suck", Gen, Post-Trespasser, Religion, or: "coming to terms with the fact your gods are not that"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliolli_oxenfree/pseuds/olliolli_oxenfree
Summary: A brief look at Fanari Lavellan’s relationship to the Creators before and after the Conclave.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You can read this on Tumblr [here!](http://fleetingshadowdm.tumblr.com/post/147956058066)

One of her duties as First includes paying respect to each of the pantheon. Some are more complex than others: Elgar’nan and Mythal take the longest, with ritual for one and prayer for the other. June, Sylaise, and Andruil receive equal time. She brushes fallen leaves off the statue of Fen’Harel and calls it a day. When she is officially made First, her regimen changes. Those who take the least time, she visits early. She received June’s vallaslin so more time than strictly necessary is spent honoring the goddess. Her twin is given Mythal’s vallaslin not too long after. Most her time with the gods is spent honoring the All-Mother.

Deshanna wants a member of their clan at the gathering known as the Conclave. She offers and is chosen. With Mythal’s blessing, her sister will take her place as Deshanna's helper. She leaves with two hunters and a warrior of the clan. The hunters she knows by name only, but the warrior she has called _lethallan_ since childhood. When she wakes, a gap in her memory and a strange magic on her arm, the three are gone. She prays for their safety but knows better. At Skyhold, she plants their graves.

When she returns to her clan, her vallaslin is gone and Corypheus defeated. The matter of the vallaslin was too weighty to share in a letter. Her first day back is spent with Deshanna and her family, explaining what the marks were and why she made the choice she did. One of her fathers is understanding, and while her mother and other father do not agree with her decision they are sympathetic. Her sister is livid and her brother confused. He has received Sylaise’s vallaslin while she was away, and the regret in his eyes twists her heart beyond what she can bear.

“I feared we would one day find a relic we would not wish to remember,” Deshanna’s voice is low and deep. “What would you have us tell the clan, _da’len_?”

“The truth. Let them decide if the _vallaslin_ is something they still wish to earn to be an adult.” Her gaze goes to the lines of her brother’s marks, so new the edges are still red. “I cannot take away what has already been done, but let them decide what will and will not happen to them. We are free to make that choice.” Deshanna sends word to the other clans. Together, they tell their own.

She falls back into the rhythms she knew before the Inquisition. She speaks more to the Creators than prays to them. “I am sorry,” she tells June. “If I’d known, I don’t think I’d have gotten them in the first place. The Dalish are free now. Thank you for your protection all these years, and,” she thinks with a fond smile of the likeness she carved into the Undercroft, “thank you for sharing your knowledge with Dagna.

“I found one of your temples,” she tells Dirthamen. “Some _shemlen_ found their way inside, but they were long dead when we came. You have your brother to thank for that, I think.”

At Ghilan’nain’s statue she can’t help her smile. “I have seen Hanal’ghilan. She is safe with a clan in the Dirth. They will protect her while she guides them. She is…so beautiful. To know she is safe with our people…” She turns away before the goddess can see her tears.

She does not pray to Mythal as she once did. Instead, silence ladens the air between them. “All-Mother,” she says as the sun turns orange on the horizon. “Mythal, Flemeth, whatever you call yourself.” A whisper, one of the many that comes from the well she drank, offers _Asha’bellanar_. She ignores it. “Thank you for the wisdom you have shared. I don’t know…how much time is granted me. Or if I have already started serving your will, or…or whatever. I do not know if I am able to make a request of you, but…” Again, she feels tears sting her eyes. “Please. I know he does not believe, but watch…watch over Solas. Guide his steps so he returns safe. Please.”

The back of her hand covers her mouth as she forces her expression under control. Here she is not Inquisitor, but she is still looked to for guidance. She must be strong. The last of her tears are wiped away, and she has turned to leave before she remembers. “You have kept the clan safe. For that, I can never repay you.”

Her time with the clan will be short. An Exalted Council has been assembled to determine the fate of the Inquisition. It is only a few months before she must leave again. She bids everyone farewell, and promises her swift return. Here is an opportunity to disband the Inquisition, and though she will miss what she has built she is eager to fully resume her duties as Deshanna’s First. No escort from the clan this time. Her name is known, and Leliana will have agents watching for her safety. Her mount is swift as it carries her towards Orlais.

When she returns once more to her clan, her arm is gone. Even with the mark removed she could feel its poison in her bones. She did not delay the inevitable. “I cannot remain,” she explains before anyone can voice their concern. “But my road will be long, and I don’t know if I’ll be lucky enough to come home again.”

Deshanna refuses to remove her title of First. “Your sister will take your place, but so much of us has been stripped from you already. Keep what you have.” It means more to her than she can ever say.

The clan has settled well in Wycome. They live on the outskirts of the city, aravels mingling with the _shemlen_ buildings. Already, several young hunters have declined vallaslin while others have continued the tradition. Those that declined instead mark themselves as adults by the amulets given to all who pass the rite. It brings more than hope. It brings knowledge that what she has pledged to do can be done. Has been done. Dalish and city elves and _shemlen_ , helping and living and thriving.

A week she stays, which is a week longer than she intends. Ravens from what remain of the Inquisition arrive constantly. She knows more of what is happening in Val Royeaux than half the citizens. Good. That is where she intends to start, if for no other reason than to give Orlais one last “Fuck You”.

On her last night, she honors the pantheon. She prays to Andruil to bless her hunt, and to her sisters June and Sylaise to give wisdom to those who will share her path. She asks Ghilan’nain for guidance, and Elgar’nan for counsel to dispense justice fairly. Falon’Din and Dirthamen she implores to safely lead those caught in the crossfire and those responsible for what is to come.

“I cannot serve you,” she tells Mythal. Or Flemeth. Or Asha’bellanar, or whatever. “Not until my task is done and the world is safe.”

Fen’Harel is where he always is: just out of the light of the night fires and facing away from the clan. As a child she was told he was turned so the Dread Wolf would not catch their scent. She wonders now if he protects them from danger.

She is careful with her change in balance as she sits. She draws her knees up, hugs them to her chest with her remaining arm. For a long time she does not look at him. The light of the fires does not reach, but with an elf's’ eyes it is enough to see. The warmth reaches them where the light does not, and keeps off the night’s chill.

Eventually, she turns her head to smile at the statue of her wolf. “Hey, Solas.”


End file.
